Lund's Ranch
by Hutchie
Summary: Heyes has amnesia...


Lund's Ranch

Part 1

CURRY

It was a small town. No sheriff, one telegraph office, one saloon.

I reined my horse in to the stable, get her settled, and headed into the town's telegraph office. I was saddle-sore and dusty, sour and hungry, not to mention thirsty. I'd had enough of hunting for Heyes. I sure hoped Lom had heard from him this time.

I sent a message and then headed to the town's one saloon. I could at least get a shower and a hot meal, even if I couldn't get any peace.

He'd been gone for three weeks now. Three weeks, since we split up to confuse the posse and give us both better odds. I never shoulda left him.

I pushed open the doors, walked in slow, scanning the room. A couple of painted ladies stood at the bar, trying not to look bored. Somebody played tinkly music at a half-busted piano. Barkeeper with big mutton chop whiskers, rubbing down a glass. He looked me over as I walked in. I gave him a nod, trying to look extra peaceable. Didn't have Heyes here to do the talking, so I'd best do it pretty good by myself.

I took in the rest of the room. A poker game going on, not too big. Just some dirty cowpokes. And he was hunched over and wearing the wrong hat.

I walked to the bar for a drink. The back of my head prickled, and I stopped for a second mid-step. _He was hunched over and wearing the wrong hat._

I felt like a fool, for recognizing Heyes but not realizing it! I mean, I'd been looking for him all this time.

I couldn't say anything while he was busy, but I wondered why he was in this disguise. Real ratty looking.

I walked the rest of the way to the bar and had a drink before turning around again, eying the game speculative-like. Maybe I could get in on it. But the stakes looked low, and all the seats were taken. I'd wait a little, maybe Heyes would come over to see me and have a drink.

I waited fifteen minutes. They finished a couple of hands. Heyes was winning. They were calling him Johnny Luck, and he was answering to it with a smile. He still had his smile about him, but something was off. He was playing delighted and serious, and he looked so ragged, and…somehow I can't explain it; he just seemed 'off.'

Somebody got up, excused himself and I asked real polite if I could play. The cowpokes looked up, gauging me, like to see if I was a cardsharp. Heyes looked at me just the same. Just exactly the same. I'd never seen him with that much of a poker face on towards me. It was like he really didn't know me. Gave me a quick look up and down with those brown eyes, straying to my gun, my hat, my face, my clothes. Good thing I hadn't clean up yet, I'd fit in pretty well, almost as dusty as they all were.

Then one of 'em pulled back a chair and said, "Sure, siddown."

I played a few hands, taking it easy, keeping an eye on Heyes. He played like this was really important to him—taking a few dollars. Real important. I don't know when I'd seen him try that hard. It was a little odd. He seemed excited to win, too, his eyes sparkling dark and happy when he raked a pot towards him—a pot with a total of a dollar fifty.

I put in my ante and caught his smile, flashed around to all the players, including me. "If I keep winning like this, I'd better cover the drinks," he said, and smiled and smiled.

He was wearing a raggedy flannel shirt, more threadbare than not, with holes in it. He had on a flimsy straw hat. His hands were dirty, like he'd been doing hard labor, and for awhile.

I wondered what his game was.

When he bid next time, two cowhands dropped out, but I stayed in, even though I knew he had me beat—well it woulda been hard not to. I wanted to see that smile again, when he won.

I knew he'd explain it to me later, but right now he sure had me puzzled.

I had to swallow my grin when he won. His was sure infectious. He was really into this, but the others were showing signs of getting restless. He deferred sweetly when they wanted to break up, and headed over to the bar to buy drinks. Most of 'em were a little taller than him, and he was standing real tall to sort of blend in, talking a little, lightly, quick to buy drinks, quick to appease before anyone could get angry.

I shoved up at the bar, too, waiting to see if I was included. "One for him, too." Heyes gestured to me, with his bright smile. "Mr…?"

"Jones. Thaddeus Jones." I waited for the spark of a secret smile in his eyes. Nothing.

"Well. Jones." He gave me a warm slap on the back. "Feel I owe you a drink, for winning all that money off you."

All that? Barely two bucks, and we're not low. Well. I'm not. He gave me most of our money to hold, before we split. He was sure looking down at the heels now.

I nursed my drink, and then bought us both another one, him and me, and waited till most everyone had moved off. He still seemed excited, sort of like he had to keep restraining himself because he just wanted to talk. He'd make a sort of jerky movement, and then restrain himself, and just smile, and drink a little. Once he glanced back at the table, but no one new was playing poker; table empty.

The others moved off and I touched his arm. "I'll play with you, 'Johnny.'"

He gave me a quick startled look turning into a smile. "Sure! For fun, or…?"

"I'll play you for money."

He looked excited again. We picked seats near each other and set our drinks down. He forgot his immediately and started dealing. I waited till the nearest painted lady regarded us and then moved on to a better target.

"So Heyes…" I leaned forward.

He looked up—his head jerked up, and he looked at me, large-eyed. "Who?"

"Heyes, what are you up to?" I smiled at him. He was playing this joke pretty well.

He just drew back, and gave me a blink. His hands on the card deck hesitated. "Do you know me?" he said, leaning forward, whispering.

I stared at him.

"Mister…Jones." He plucked the name out of his memory, but it took a second. "If you know me, I'd appreciate you telling me what you know." He smiled, but it hurt to look at it, self-conscious and anxious. "You see, I lost my memory a few weeks ago. My name isn't really Johnny Luck. That's just what they call me, because I was so lucky to survive, and I'm good with cards. And…well…another reason, too." He looked a little embarrassed. "Anyway, if you know my name, Mr. Jones, I'd surely appreciate you telling me." His dark eyes looked very concerned. I could almost hear the things he was thinking. _What kind of man am I?_ _Who is this?_

This was going to take some work. Gentle work.

"Are you all right?" I asked.

"Yes." He shook his head, dismissing the question, frowning a little. "I just can't remember. Do you know me? You called me something. Hey…" He struggled with the word.

"Hey you," I said quickly, and straightened slightly and plastered on a smile. I smiled at a passing new pal of Heyes, who was giving me the suspicious look.

When he passed I looked at Heyes again. "It's gonna take some time—and privacy—for us to talk. You want to rent a room, stay here overnight?"

He snorted and drew back. "Mister, I got fifty cents a day for the last week for breaking my back at Lund's ranch. I just tripled my money playing poker, but I don't aim to waste it on a room. We can just go for a little walk, if'n you don't want to talk in public."

"I'll pay for it. It's okay. I have money."

He looked a little startled. "Sure you can't tell me on a walk?"

And I realized he didn't trust me. It made me feel a little strange and sad inside. Heyes didn't trust me. Didn't know me, neither.

"Guess I could try." We scraped back out chairs, rising at the same moment, or nearly. I paid for our last round and we went outside.

He hesitated, before he stepped off the porch with me. "Guess it's something bad, isn't it?" His expression wrinkled a little, rueful and nervous.

"Yeah, pal, it is." I slung an arm around his shoulder. We walked down the street, and I started to tell him. Everything.

#

HEYES

So I finally meet someone who claims to know me, and guess what? He says I'm an outlaw. He is too. We're on the run from the law, bounties on our heads, and at the same time, tryin' to stay outta trouble and earn amnesty from the governor. Only it's a secret.

Needless to say, this news didn't make my day.

We just kept walking, and he kinda glanced at me, like trying to read my face. We were almost to the end of town now, but I wasn't ready to turn back.

"Well? Do you remember anything, Heyes?" he asked me.

"Don't call me that, mister." I turned a frown on him. "I have only your word for all of this. Since I don't remember, I can't say if you're telling the truth or not."

His face fell, with a look of ridiculous disappointment.

"Now I have to get back to my friends. We're heading back to the ranch soon, got a big day ahead of us tomorrow."

He swallowed—and nodded. "Of—of course, Heyes. Johnny. You'll—want to remember first, before you throw your lot in with me again." And he turned and walked away, down the street, his head kinda down. A sad, outlaw-gunfighter.

Even though he had his gun strapped down, I wouldn'ta put him as a real outlaw type. Partly because he had that baby face, I guess, but more than that. He had real gentle eyes. I couldn't see him picking a fight with anyone.

I guess the guys felt the same way and that's why we all played poker with him. He hadn't been a sore loser, at least. And he wasn't being one now. But somehow I felt like a heel for letting him walk away.

Didn't make me go after him, though.

When I got back to the saloon, the boys were just about done whooping it up. Didn't really have the money to afford a real wingding. Jet looked at me, asking a silent question and I gave him a smile and a shrug. I could tell him later. If I wanted to.

We were all riding back to the ranch a little later. Jet, me, Leroy, Harvey, and the rest, when Jet pulled his horse a little closer to mine. "What that guy want with ya, Johnny?"

Jet's the guy who found me, saved my life, so I've been feeling kinda indebted.

I shrugged. "Thought he knew me from somewhere. Couldn't remember my name, though," I lied smoothly.

"What'd he want to talk to you about?" Jet gave me a sharp look.

"Thought I owed him some money. I talked him out of that."

This drew a laugh. It was already a joke among the boys, that I could talk the ears off a mule, and make him like it. I wouldn't go that far, but my talents did seem to lie in that direction. That, and, I now knew, poker.

And if that guy was right, bein' an outlaw.

By the next day, the story had gotten all around the ranch and the hands were joshing me about getting out of a debt even without my memory.

I kept care of the money I'd won, and didn't leave it off my person. The work was backbreaking, I'll admit, but I felt kindly towards them all for saving my life, and I thought it had to be better than being an outlaw. If I had a choice, that is. And I did, since I didn't remember.

I thought about the gunman a lot though, while I was working on fence and then shoveling manure towards the end of the day. I wondered what he was doing now, and if I really had send away my cousin, my only living relative.

I was walking to the pump to clean up at the end of the day, about as tired as you can get and still stay standing, when I saw him again, standing on the porch, talking to Mr. Lund. For a second, I stopped and stared. Then I went ahead and washed up, because whatever was happening, I'd need my hands clean. I tried to hear what he was saying...

#

CURRY

"Yes sir, Mr. Lund. I thought I knew him." I stood there trying to look earnest and innocent, my heart pounding hard. Heyes told them? How much?

Mr. Lund was looking at me critically like he didn't trust me. Sort of wary and protective. It's nice to see someone feeling protective towards Heyes, but that didn't help me much at the moment.

"He said you thought he owed you money. If you're coming here trying to get it…" Lund was a tall older man, with hair and a moustache that were going white.

"No sir, Mr. Lund. I heard you needed some mountain lions shot, that's all. I aim to get the job done. That is, if you'll hire me." I tried my best to look law-abiding.

"Hm." He took another look at my gun tied down like a gunfighter's. "Guess you'll do," he said after a moment. "Pay is fifty dollars a lion, and room and board. If you don't shoot something in a week, you're out or start paying rent. I don't feed and house people for nothing."

"Yes sir." I gave him a smile. "I reckon I'd feel the same way if I had me a ranch."

"Hm. Well, you don't. And I don't expect to see you harassing Johnny, either. He can't remember who he is, so as far as I'm concerned, that means his debts are all on hold until he gets his memory back. You willing to abide by that?"

"Sure thing, Mr. Lund." I touched my hat and smiled. "Sounds fair to me. I'm just lookin' for work."

"Hm. Well, in that case get your gear stowed, and take a spot in the bunkhouse. Supper's in ten minutes. Johnny—call Mack to show him where to go."

I turned around quick to see Heyes, by the pump, drying off. He nodded to Mr. Lund, and then started towards the barn. He walked real tired.

I turned back to Mr. Lund. He was watching me close, his eyes kinda narrowed. "We take care of our own here, Mr. Jones. And Johnny's one of our own now."

He waited there with me till Mack came, and showed me where to go, and then I got cleaned up and we went to eat.

#

HEYES

Smith, or Curry, sure could pack away the food. He just ate and ate, like he hadn't tasted cornbread and chili in a month.

The guys didn't take kindly to him. Nobody talked to him much, and they were all keeping an eye on him. The man who lost at poker with 'em was now working here, and still seemed like he might be a threat to me. He was a gunfighter, sure, but somehow I trusted him. The story of my owing him money seemed to have got people's backs up, and I guessed that wasn't really fair, since I'd made it up anyway. So I went out of my way to be nice.

"You think you've got enough food there, Mr. Jones?"

He paused mid chew, and nodded, seriously. "But I can finish yours, if you can't stomach it all." He pointed a spoon at my plate.

"I believe you could. Bet you could eat every man under the table. Frankly, I'm surprised you're not fat as a house."

He stared at me, his cheeks pouched out like a chipmunks, and then slowly he nodded. "The same thing has always come as a real surprise to me, Mr. 'Luck.'"

I could see he was taking the teasing fine, but it seemed like other people were kinda holding their breath, waiting for the fireworks.

"Now, about that name," I said. "Seems to me, it's like calling a one-eyed dog Lucky. You don't really say what kinda luck he has. Bad luck, or good?"

Jones swallowed. "Kinda both, dependin' on how ya look at it."

I grinned. "Exactly. He was unlucky to lose an eye, but lucky to survive such a bad injury." I was winding up for the pitch. "Now, that's how I figure I am. I'm real unlucky to lose my memory, but on the other hand, I'm lucky to have fell in with these nice fellas here. This here…" I put an arm around Jet, who was sitting beside me. "This here fella fished me out of a stream. I musta fallen and hit my head real bad. He brought me to the ranch, and they fixed me up, gave me a job, everything. So I'm real lucky that way."

"He's also real lucky at cards," piped up Max.

A chortle ran around the table—rueful on some accounts. I grinned around at everybody, and shrugged. "Guess I am."

"And then he's got the boss's daughter after him…" said someone else.

Some folks grinned, but Jet got stern. "You can't blame him for that," he snapped. "And don't be talking bad about her. You might just lose your jobs if the boss hears…."

Everybody got real quiet then, and somber. I did, too.

"So, it's good luck, or it's bad luck, depending on how you look at it," I said. "A beautiful young woman, a fine lady… and her father is real, real protective of her."

There was a look of understanding that sort of rippled around the table. Like maybe they half envied me, having the boss's daughter take an interest, and were half scared to stand in my shoes, knowing Lund. He's a good man, but not an easy one. Leastwise that's been my impression so far. But he's helped me, fixed me up, given me a job, and I've got no complaints—and no wish to be on his bad side.

Jones / Curry nodded, like that made sense to him. "Sounds like a real interesting setup you got here, Johnny. If you do remember your name, and owing me that money, I'll expect you to pay it back. But, if you don't, I expect I'll live. It was only twelve dollars, and I can't hardly hold it against you that you forgot."

He smiled and nodded to the cook, scraped back his chair. "Well, I guess I'll be hitting the hay."

They watched him go, and I felt like things got less tense after that. They were deciding to trust him, after all. Didn't mean they wouldn't keep an eye on him. Well, I couldn't blame them for that—since that's what I'd be doing, too.

#

CURRY

After the excellent meal, I got a chance to see what Heyes was talking about, with the daughter of Lund. A real pretty girl with sleek, dark hair and a smiling face came to deliver a piece of pie to the bunkhouse. She said it was for Johnny, and he needed to eat to keep his strength up.

It was apple pie, and I guarantee you I was not the only man in that bunkhouse salivating and thinking jealous thoughts. Heyes didn't seem to have much choice in the matter, though. She kinda corralled him into eating it, while she watched.

"You like it?" she asked, hands behind her back. I'd have put her at maybe nineteen, and a little too pushy—the kinda girl who's the apple of her daddy's eye, and knows it, and maybe isn't yet used to the fact that she won't always get what she wants, from men and life.

Heyes nodded seriously, trying to swallow quick before he spoke. "It's real good, Miss Lund."

"Lucy. I told you to call me Lucy."

Heyes tipped his hat back and smiled up at her, from where he sat on a bottom bunk. I could tell he was real tired but he was playing up nice, being charming and gennelmanly. Of course he did get that pie out of it, so I don't guess he was complaining, even on the inside. He gave her one of his sweet smiles. "Well, now, Miss Lund, I don't reckon your father would take kindly to one of his ranch hands gettin' so familiar with his daughter. So I'll stay with Miss Lund, if you don't mind."

Her eyes flashed a little. "I don't see what Daddy has to do with it." (Yup. She even still called her father 'daddy.' I could see Heyes was gonna have trouble with this one.) "And you don't have to stay a ranch hand forever. Daddy needs help with the books. Perhaps you're good with numbers. Laura said you won a lot at poker the other night. Maybe you're good with money." She looked at him, smiling now. She had such a pretty smile, you could fall for her easy, especially out in the middle of nowhere like this. "It couldn't hurt to try, could it?"

Heyes smiled at her real sweet and regretful. "Well now I guess I'd have to talk to your father about that. But I do thank you kindly for the suggestion—and the pie. It was real kindly of you, and it tasted mighty good." He stood up and handed the plate back to her, her cue to get lost.

I found myself holding my breath, to see if she'd listen or try something else. On the one hand, I didn't mind looking at her at all, on the other hand, Heyes didn't exactly need any more trouble right now, and that's what this girl was—trouble.

Her face dimpled in a smile. Oh boy. "I made it myself," she announced, and then turned and flounced away. Every man in that bunkhouse watched her go.

Heyes watched too, and then turned back and raised his hat, ran a hand back through his hair, and made a rather expressive, regretful face.

Then we all bedded down for the night, thinking about some men's luck.

The next day, I wanted to stick around and look after Heyes, keep an eye on him like, but I couldn't. I had to go hunt lions. Looked like that Jet guy is sticking close to him. I hope I can trust him with Heyes' safety. Somehow I don't like the look of that guy, but I recognize maybe it's because of Heyes throwing his arm around him last night, and introducing him like he's his real special friend. That's my place, and nobody else's.

Still, I'm grateful to the man for saving my partner's life. So I kept my thoughts hid off my face, and I acted nice as I could, to him and to everyone. After all, if I mean to stay welcome on this ranch, something tells me I've got to get along with 'em all. Lund don't seem to tolerate much else.

I ate a great breakfast with the hands, and then went to the pump to wash up. I got there about the same time as Heyes, and he looked over at me and gave me a nod and a smile. He was feeling friendly this morning, seemed mellow and calm.

There's something about his face, with this amnesia, that's different. Even though it makes me sad to see him look at me and not know who I am—not even know who he is, how tough and strong and smart he is, and famous—I like some of what I see.

He's humble. That ain't like Heyes. I'm not sure if I like that or not, but it sure is different. He seems grateful for every little thing, just being alive or winning fifty cents in a poker game. It's kinda nice, but it's kinda odd, too.

And he seems happy. I don't know how to explain it other than that. Happy, not worried. Not lookin' over his shoulder all the time, or trying to scheme or get out of trouble or get into trouble. Just…living a regular life. When he smiles, it's like when he was a kid—his face is real open and trouble-free.

It kinda breaks my heart. He hasn't smiled that way in a long time, except once in awhile to me. Now he can smile at the whole world that way, just like when he was a kid. Because he doesn't remember.

What kinda friend am I, that I wanted to take that away from him?

But I wished they wouldn't work him so hard. Anyone could see he wasn't up to it yet, strugglin' along game as a bantam rooster, but just about ready to collapse sometimes.

He took off his hat to wash his face, and I gave a start. It was the first time I'd seen him without it, and now I knew why.

He'd got a bad wound on the back of his head, healing now, stitched up and not even bandaged no more, done bleeding, some of the bruises even healing. They clipped his hair all away from the wound. No wonder he didn't want to take that straw hat off. It's healing clean, at least. I stood there assessing it, while he washed.

Jet walked up and gave me a look. He's got real dark hair, slicked back, and a big square face, kinda fierce-looking. Taller than me, and real muscular. He has a big scar on one cheek.

"Why don't you use the other pump, fella?" he told me.

I was burning inside a little, at the thought of this guy protecting Heyes from me—from me!—but I went along with it. After all, I was gonna play this peaceable. And I had no claim on Heyes, not till he remembered.

If he remembered. If I should even wish for that now.

Tell the truth, if I thought it would be better for him—they'd keep him safe, guaranteed, for the rest of the year, and nobody's recognize him or try to turn him in for the bounty—I'd let him go. I'd let him keep his new life, and go away, leave him his peace.

But I can't be sure of that, can I? And leaving him alone might be the worst thing I could do. Throwing him to the wolves. And mountain lions, and jackals, and vultures. He's more vulnerable now than he's ever been, because he doesn't even know what to watch out for. And these guys don't know how to protect him neither, even if they think they do. They might even turn him in for the reward if they knew.

I went off to hunt lions with a heavy heart, wishing my hands weren't tied. Wishing there was something I could do, to either help him get his memory back, or guarantee his safety here, without it.

#

HEYES or JOHNNY

When Jones—or Curry, but I thought I'd better think of him as Jones—got back, he had two mountain lions slung over the back of his horse, and he looked sorta grim of mournful.

Everybody rushed out to see them beasts. He'd shot 'em easy as breathing. It was something. Didn't act like it was no big deal, either.

I gathered round same as everybody. It made me laugh a little inside, to see how impressed Lucy—Miss Lund—was. Maybe she was ready to transfer her affections from the romantic amnesiac to the romantic gunslinger. It wouldn't take much, maybe.

I figured half of what she liked about me was having somebody who needed took care of. They had me in the house, for the first few days, and she helped with the doctoring. I figure the other half of it is just bein' so lonely and bored, she liked the first man who'd smile at her, before he knew better.

So I'd like to take credit for being somebody womenfolk can't resist, but I highly doubt it's the truth.

I reached out and touched the dead lion's fur. Somethin' familiar about that. Something familiar. For a second I'm imagining—or remembering—seeing one of those things jump at me, alive, screeching. And then—

"Jones, you care to show us your shooting skills?" Jet interrupted my thoughts, and I looked up to see Jones watching me real careful, maybe even kinda hopeful.

Jet, on the other hand, was looking proddy. He stuck his thumbs through his belt loops. "Maybe go up against some other shots here on the ranch. Just for fun, ya know."

Jones' eyes got kinda hard for a second, like he had something to say to that. "Well now I don't see the point. And I already did some shootin' for today." He spread a hand out, indicating the lions.

"Just a little fun, you know," drawled Jet. "Don't get much to entertain us out this way. Seems like that's the least you could do, what with taking the bounties off these here cats away from us."

"Bounties been on these cats for a month," piped up Max. "Didn't see you gettin' any in that time, Jet."

Jet got a little red in the face. "That's cause I've been working so hard—not riding off and skipping out on chores."

"It would be lovely to see a real shooting contest." Lucy smiled up at Jones hopefully.

I could kinda see him melt. "Well, if the little lady wants to see it…"

Something in me felt like warning Jones off, telling him not to be foolish, but I couldn't see where a feeling like that was coming from. Besides, I had no place in it, so I kept my face neutral. He glanced at me once, like he wanted my opinion, but I didn't know what to say.

"I'll get daddy." Lucy headed towards the house. Some of the hands set up targets—close and far off.

Jet and Jones got their guns ready. I leaned on the fence to watch, joining a bunch of other fellows, not too close. Mr. Lund comes out onto the porch to watch, too.

"These are your targets." Jet nodded. "And these are mine. First man to down them all wins. We need somebody to count us down."

Max stepped forward and did it, and then they started shootin'.

I seen Jet shoot, but I hadn't seen Jones shoot. I watched him real close, like everybody else was doing.

First he seemed to hesitate, almost like he was paralyzed. When Jet had his gun drawn, starting to aim, Jones pulled his, moving kinda awkward, like he wan't used to pulling it this way. At any rate, he was slow. But he did good next: Jet was shootin' off, missing and hittin, but Jones took the time to aim for each shot. One bullet, one target. Jet, seein' he's good, starts to shoot faster and misses more. But he's hitting some, and bottles are shattering right and left. Jones just keeps plugging away, aiming, shooting, not missing a single target. I feel this big grin growing on my face, even though I'm not sure why. It's like I'm proud of him, or something. Maybe he really is my cousin.

He finishes his targets, and puts away his gun real slow and careful. Jet fires once more—misses—fires again, and shatters his last bottle. He turns to look at Jones triumphant, but then his face falls, as he realizes Jones already won.

Some of the guys whistle. Someone claps. Miss Lund runs down and tells Jones he was "wonderful."

Jones accepts the praise as his due, then looks over her head, to me. I'm still smiling, and he gives me a little smile back, like he's proud of himself, too. He walks to the barn real tall, and unsaddles his horse.

And I feel like smiling and smiling. Still not sure why.

"Heyes." He comes up to me later, when I'm shuffling some cards, just enjoying the feel of 'em in my hands. Nobody wants to play with me, for some reason. I look at him real quick, but we're alone, and he's keepin' his voice down.

"You remember anything?" he asks me, his blue eyes kinda sad.

"I'm not sure," I whisper back. "I liked watching you shoot, though. You're good."

His smile dies, and he looks at me sober-eyed. Then he turns around to sit facing the land, not me. He stares out onto the ranch for awhile, and listens to the birds gettin' tired and the crickets lettin' loose.

I deal a fake hand, for my imaginary opponent, and one for myself, the dealer. Dealer stands pat. Other guy gets a hit. Dealer wins, at eighteen, other guy goes bust.

I look at Jones' back, wondering if I can ask him to play a couple hands with me—not for money, just to pass a few minutes friendly-like.

But he starts to speak, before I can get up the nerve. "You know how to shoot, Johnny?"

"Not sure," I admit. I gather up the cards, and start shuffling again. I look over at him, to see if he'll notice how neat thing I'm doing it, like I'm a pro.

He turns and smiles at me, not noticing my busy hands. "Well, were you found with a gun?"

I shake my head.

"Want to see if you can shoot? Maybe I can show you a thing or two." He's got a nice smile on again, and he's taking things slow, I can tell. But I don't mind. I agree to it, and we head out, pick up some bottles that aren't broke, and set them up on the closer wall where he and Jet were shooting earlier.

"You can use my gun," he said, and puts it in my hand. It's heavy, but somehow not unfamiliar. I heft it a little. Looks like an expensive one. He stands there watching me, one foot leaning on the lower rail of the fence.

"Just take aim and squeeze the trigger slow," he says, and gives me a blue-eyed smile, like he's enjoying this.

I grin back kinda nervous, not sure how I feel about handling a gun, and then I do it, I shoot.

First shot goes wide. The gun barks in my hand and I'm a little startled.

"That's fine, Heyes. You gotta aim real careful with this one. It shoots straight—not off to the left, like your old one." He's talking soft to me, like maybe I'm a horse that'll spook if he's not careful. "Try again."

He moves in and adjusts the gun in my hands, snugging my hands around it, so I'm holding it more firmly. "Now take your time and aim."

I do, and this time I take the head off a bottle. I turn and give him an incredulous grin, and he's grinning back, real proud. He leans on the fence. "That's the way, Heyes. Now take the rest of 'em down."

And one by one, I do.

#

CURRY

When he hands my gun back, Heyes looks real proud, like he could burst. He stands tall and his chest is puffed out, and he's got this huge grin on his face. He looks like a big kid.

I can't resist making him feel a little prouder yet. "That's real fine shooting, Johnny," I tell him, and he nods, and heads back to get his cards before going to the bunkhouse.

That night Lucy brings me pie. She has nice things to say about my shooting, but I think she's partly trying to make Heyes jealous.

It's lost on him, though, because he already fell into his bunk face down and zonked immediately.

I get pie out of it, though, so I ain't complaining. It's the best apple pie I've eaten in months. I ask her if I can have a second piece, and she kinda blinks at me, surprised. "All right. Come with me—to the kitchen. I don't want to stand out here all night talking." She gives me a coy little smile.

"Uh—on second thought, maybe I oughta stay out here. Ma'am." I tip my hat, and she glares at me, and stomps off.

Maybe she doesn't realize how scary her daddy could be if anyone crossed him, because she sure does seem to think hired hands shouldn't be scared of courting her in her own kitchen.

I sigh a little about the pie, and then lay down too. I managed to get a bed near Heyes, so I can keep an eye on him. I sleep with my gun near me, and my hat cocked over my head, so I can open my eyes any time without anyone seeing, and stay alert if I need to.

But nothing happens, and Heyes sleeps sound, and eventually, so do I.

Heyes not having his gun sets off little alarm bells in my head. I figure since Jet found him, he's the one that stole it. I keep even more of an eye on him after that.

But more days pass, and nothing bad seems to be happening. He really seems to look after Heyes, and I guess I should be grateful for that. Even takes the heavy lifting sometimes, when he can see Heyes is getting tired, and sometimes he lets Heyes talk him into things.

I don't know why I should let it get to me, but it does. I feel awful low when I see them together, smiling like a pair of long lost pals.

Lucy is leaving us all alone lately. She acts mad, but I think mostly that's because nobody's jumping to her when she crooks a little finger. I surely do miss her pie, though. She could be a real sweet girl if she wasn't so sure of herself bein' God's gift to men.

By now, I've got all the mountain lions, but Mr. Lund is glad to hire me on because he needs extra men to round up his beeves.

We go out, days in the saddle, real hard work, and I gotta tell you, it's danged hard on the back. But I gotta keep an eye on Heyes, so I go along with it. He's gettin' stronger now, but I keep a close eye on him, don't let him tackle anything too big himself. Not that I seem to need to. The other hands are looking out for him too. And most of all, Jet, of course.

One day someone says, "This is near where ya found Johnny, isn't it, Jet?"

And Heyes looks up real quick, and I look up, and then Jet answers, sorta slow and reluctant, like he doesn't want to. "Yeah. This is where I found him." He leads the way on his horse to a stream, with some trees gathered round. "Right about there. Near that big rock." He points, and we all stare at it. I don't know about them, but I'm imagining Heyes, fallen off, bleeding, near death. Makes me feel downright cold inside.

Heyes shudders a little, and I guess he feels the same way. I get off and walk around. "Where was his horse?"

"Musta walked off and left him. He was just lyin' there. I had to sling him over my saddle."

And I picture Heyes, like a sack of corn, over this guy's saddle. Don't like it much, but I guess Heyes would be dead without him.

"Don't have time to fool around," said Mack. "Let's get going."

So we get going.

Heyes turns in his saddle, looking back, like he wants to remember. Like he's losing the last link to who he really is. He's frowning. I'll ask him later if he remembers anything.

#

HEYES or JOHNNY

That night, I'm still thinking about the stream, and if anything looks familiar about it. It makes my head hurt, thinking so hard, trying to remember something that's not there, and when the guys decide to set up some targets to blow off steam, I jump at the chance.

I still don't have my own gun, but Jones lends me his again. He's real generous with me, and sometimes he seems protective or proud. I kinda like that in him, and I do trust him. But somehow I haven't bridged the gap to make him my close friend, like I've been doin' with Jet.

Seems like it takes a lot more to be friends with Jones—Curry—than it does with Jet. I'm not quite ready to give that much. And so far he's accepting that. He's standing back and giving me room.

I do pretty good, shooting with Jones' fancy gun. I hit all my targets and grin round. "Didn't think I could do that, did ya, boys?"

Jet watches me kinda worried, and then after everything's done, he leads me away to talk private-like. His eyes are real dark and worried. "Johnny, I don't think you should be shooting that good."

"Why not?" I ask, and blink at him. "If I'm a good shot, that's a good thing, right?"

"No, it ain't." He looks around, and lowers his voice real careful. "Because I found you with a gun, Johnny. I never told you that before. It was tied down, like a gunfighter's. I got it off you and hid it away, because I knew Lund might not want to help you if you were somebody wanted. I hid your hat, too, because it had a gunshot through it—like somebody'd been shooting at you."

He looks at me real careful. "It don't matter to me who you used to be. But don't go asking for trouble by letting yourself get notorious, Johnny." He lays a hand on my shoulder and we start to head back to camp.

"What'd you do with 'em, the hat and the gun?" I ask.

"Oh, I kept the hat hid away. I sold the gun. Didn't get much for it, I'll let you have the price when we get back to the ranch."

"Can I see the hat?"

"Sure." He pats my shoulder, and we walk back to the others.

#

CURRY

One night, around a campfire, when Heyes is gettin' a little stronger, not falling asleep instantly, somebody loans Heyes the guitar and lets him take a turn singin'. He strums away gentle-like and comes out with that song about the gift being simple, and all that.

It makes my throat hurt awful bad, and I hafta look away. When I look back, Jet is watching him real proud, and all the men around the fire have peaceable expressions on their faces.

He's one of them now. He really is. Maybe it's time for me to move on…

Then he hands the guitar over to me. "You sing somethin', Jones. Go on." Heyes looks at me almost the way he used to, like he's reading my mind and can see I'm feeling real low.

So I sing the song about how I ain't got no home to go to, they don't know me there. I feel a little better after that, sad as it is. Then the guitar goes on to someone else, and there's more singing, something cheerful. Heyes claps along and stomps his feet, his eyes real dark but somehow also bright with the firelight reflected in 'em. I keep watching him, and wondering if he remembered anything at the stream today.

And later, when we're all bedding down for the night, I ask him. I made sure my bedroll is near his today, and whisper to him, "Johnny. Remember anything?"

"No," he says in a hoarse whisper. "But I found out something. Or maybe I did. Tell ya later." And he pulls his blanket over his head.

I reach out and poke him in the shoulder, try to get him to tell me now, but someone says to hush up over there, and I have no choice but to lay back.

I stare at the stars, and try to sleep. I wonder if he found out he's Heyes. I wonder if he'll ever remember me.

#

HEYES or JOHNNY

We finish with the roundup, and head back to the ranch, tired, flea-bitten, exhausted, plum wore out.

I can't wait to see my hat. The excitement keeps me going. I figure, if a man don't recognize his hat, why, he'll never get his memory back. But if I do, why, I'm halfway there. Then maybe I'll remember Curry, or else I can put him out of his misery, and tell him sorry, I just don't, and let him move on with his life. I know he's waiting around here because of me. I feel kinda bad keeping him on a leash like that, even though I do like having him around.

After I get cleaned up at the pump, I ask Jet to take me to the hat. He does, hid up in the hay loft, where nobody'd think to look for a hat.

It's a decayed old thing, black but real dusty, ragged, and battered. And sure enough, it's got a gunshot hole in it. I stick my finger through it, and then look at Jet. "What do you think it means? You think I am an outlaw?"

He shrugs. Avoids my gaze. "Guess there mighta been some talk," he mumbles. "In town. Some men a posse was chasing got away. Only you didn't fit the description none, because you were alone, just a poor drifter fell off his horse." He reaches up and scratches at his head. "I got rid of your fancy jacket, too. Your clothes was ripped up pretty good, but I ripped 'em up a little more….Heyes."

I blinked and startled. Then my shoulders slumped. "So it's true, then?"

He looks at me, and nods. "I think so. And that guy—Jones—he's Curry, ain't he? Come to take you back to a life of crime."

Slowly, I shake my head. "He ain't a criminal anymore. He's trying to go straight. And so am I—so is Heyes, I mean. If I am him."

I felt real tired and sad inside, then. I guess the future isn't an open book, with all things possible. Just a narrow path with lots of twists and turns, and places to get ambushed up ahead. Lots of running to do, and seeking, and maybe never finding.

"I won't tell anyone," says Jet. "I didn't, all this time."

I just nod. "Think anybody suspects?"

"I don't."

He looks at me, and I look at him.

"How come you saved me, if you knew I was Heyes?"

He shrugged. "A man's got a conscience. I couldn't let you die. I seen enough people die in my life, didn't need any more. And…" He scratched at his head. "You looked kinda younger, lying there half dead. Reminded me of my little brother."

I nod. There is a resemblance between us, though Jet's bigger than me. Kinda have the same square face and dark hair.

I don't ask what happened to his brother. I don't have to. He's dead, sure as I ain't. But if it hadn't been for him, pulling on his brother's heartstrings from beyond the grave, I probably would be, too.

Makes a man feel downright sober inside, knowing he came that close, and only a stranger's quick thinking and kindness saved his hide.

I really do owe Jet, don't I?

#

CURRY

I tried to talk to Heyes. He'd promised to tell me what he learned. But he stayed away, hanging out with the other cowboys, actin' rowdy, whooping it up, pretending. I could see even from a distance that something was bothering him, though I don't guess everyone else could tell, to be fair to him and his acting skills.

Well, I'd bided my time this long. I bode a little longer.

We weren't home to the ranch twenty four hours before all the cowpokes headed to town, whooping it up, to blow off steam, fritter away their pay, and probably return home drunk and diseased.

I shook my head, but I went along. Heyes did, too. Maybe I'd finally get to talk to him, maybe he'd make me wait longer.

I usually will follow his lead. He almost never steers a fellow wrong. Even now, with his memory lost, I'd been following his lead, and the two of us had stayed out of trouble, hadn't we? It had been a good couple of months, and we were doin' okay. Yeah, the work was hard on the back, but on the other hand, no posses. And that's not something we can say every day.

Well I lost track of him once we hit town. He got away from me. I went to have a drink, and then started looking for him. I couldn't find him, and I got disgusted with looking, so I went to take me a bath. When I got done, and went into the saloon, there was Heyes, looking all shiny and new himself, so he must've done the same thing himself.

He was holding something in his hands and talking with some cowpokes about it, smiling. "Won it in a poker game," he said in his deep, confident voice. "I think the guy WANTED to lose!"

I saw what he was holding and my heart just about stopped. I looked up at him and he looked at me, and he got real sober.

He was holding his hat.

"Gotta talk to you," I managed to grate out.

He jammed his hat on his head—such a familiar gesture—and followed me. It was like he was himself again, looking clean, wearing his filthy hat. I could hardly stand it, when I turned to look at him, and still saw the stranger in his eyes, the lack of memory of everything we'd shared, everything we'd done, all our lives together, the good times and bad.

"Yes, Jones?"

I leaned closer and whispered. "Don't you call me 'Jones' in that innocent voice. You and me, Heyes—we're having a talk." I grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him out back behind the stables. Quick, before Jet could find him and intervene. That guy was worse than a mother hen.

Heyes let me drag him along. Then I plopped down on a straw bale and let my breath out. "Heyes, you're killin' me here. Where'd you get your hat? And what haven't you been telling me?"

"So it is my—old hat." He turned it over in his hands, looking real sad. "I was wondering if you'd recognize it." He looked up then, and his eyes were a little too bright, his smile fake. "Jet found it with me, hid it because of the bullet hole. He also hid my gun and gun belt, and—changed a couple other things, so I wouldn't fit the description of one—Hannibal Heyes."

For a second, I had trouble breathing. "He knew? He knew, Heyes?" I jumped up and glared. "We gotta get outta here!"

"Would you calm down? Obviously he didn't tell anyone. I didn't want to believe you, but now, well, I guess you're right."

"Well? Are you ready to go?" I spread my arms.

He glared at me. "Kid, I still don't remember!"

Hearing him call me Kid again did me more good than I can say. Made me smile, too. But Heyes weren't smiling. I guess he didn't mean it that way, and he didn't remember, still.

I cut out the smiling and faced him soberly.

"Anyway." His brows were drawn down angry-like. "What's wrong with staying here, even if I am—that man?" He couldn't even say his own name, like he hated it or something!

I thought about it a second, and then found myself nodding. I crossed my arms. "I guess we can, long as it's safe. The work ain't easy but it has been safe—so far. As long as your buddy Jet—well, just keep him in line, Heyes, 'cuz it's both our lives if he tells."

Heyes shook his head. "There's no sheriff. Besides, he won't. He thinks of me like his little brother. He'll look out for me." He saw my inquiring look, and explained further, crossing his own arms. "His real brother's dead, and he's the kind of guy that likes to look out for somebody."

_What about me?_ I wanted to say. _Don't I look out for you, Heyes?_

But I kept my mouth shut, and followed him instead, out of the barn and back into this new life he'd stuck us in. I guessed I should be grateful—to Heyes, for admitting who he was, even if he still didn't remember, and to Jet for keeping it secret. But I didn't feel grateful. In fact, I felt downright proddy.

#

HEYES

Whether I liked it or not, I was an outlaw. Running from the law, plain and simple, whatever you wanted to say about an amnesty that might or might not appear someday. It sounded like a good dream, but the fear and flightiness I saw in Curry's eyes told me that wasn't much to do with the day to day-ness of it.

I figured I better start preparing like an outlaw.

With the money I'd saved, I played a little poker, till I'd doubled it and nobody wanted to play with me anymore.

Curry stayed in most hands, though, stayed in longer than he should when I had a winning hand. He was doing that soft thing again, giving me stuff. I pretended not to notice that he was cheerfully letting me win money off him. I took almost five whole dollars off him, before I called him on a pair of twos, and gave him a glare. He raised his hands cheerfully and said, "Guess it's getting too rich for my blood. Thought I could bluff you, Lucky."

The man opposite me threw down his cards in disgust and left the table. "Never play cards with a man named Lucky."

I gave Curry another glare and he smiled at me and shrugged, then headed off to get a drink. I took off after the man who'd thrown down his cards, and tried to tell him the story about the one-eyed dog. He wasn't much interested.

No one else was, either, and I had to be satisfied with what I'd won already. It was like a fire in my blood, wanting to keep going. I could see how I'd have to keep weighing the odds real careful each time, not to get suckered into something where I'd lose all my money. I liked winning—not just betting.

Seemed like I could remember an awful lot about poker. Some Hoyle rules and everything. Didn't seem fair I couldn't remember Curry. Fair to him, anyway. I kinda liked being nobody. But it ain't nice to forget your friends.

Well, with the small stake I'd earned, I went and bought myself a horse, so if I had to take off at a moment's notice, at least I wouldn't be stealing one of Lund's mounts. Then I bought myself a ratty old gun. It looked really beaten around, but it shot straight enough, and it was all I could afford. I didn't have a gun belt, so I just stuck it in my saddlebags, figured I'd get one later. Then I bought myself a new shirt, because my old one was like to fall off my back, and some fresh pants, too. That and a few drinks, and now my money was depleted something heavy. I didn't like to think how long it had taken to earn it, and then how much luck and skill and right circumstances I'd needed to win the rest.

Maybe that was what made you tempted to be an outlaw—breaking your back, and still never having any money, while the fat cats sat rich and arrogant.

Thing is, I still didn't feel like this Heyes fella. I didn't feel mad at the world, or scared of the world. Didn't feel like stealing or running. It's hard to make sense of decisions you don't remember making.

I went to go water the horse, and saw Curry again. He was striding towards me. "I got something for you." He shoved a book at me, a battered book by Mark Twain. "See if you don't remember THAT," he said, and brushed past, on into the saloon.

I looked at the book, and kinda felt warm inside. I couldn't help smiling. Where had he gotten it? How much had it cost him? These were things I couldn't answer, but I sure was going to enjoy reading and seeing if I remembered this book. If I didn't—well, I'd get to enjoy it all over again, wouldn't I?

I hadn't gotten to read much since…well, for a second there, I'd almost remembered since when.

When we headed back to the ranch, I felt light inside, buoyant and hopeful. A new book—a new horse—new clothes—a new gun. Why, I was all set. I just hoped I wouldn't need the horse or gun, only the clothes and book.

#

Part 2

CURRY

I guess I was getting proddy, stuck on the ranch. I was starting to feel trapped. I almost got into two fights, just for being surly and bumping into people. Guess people don't much like my face when I'm in a bad mood.

Heyes, for all he'd accepted he was Heyes, stayed away from me. Every chance he got, he was curled up in his bunk, or sitting on a fence with his legs wove round it to keep his balance, reading. I wanted to grab that book and hit him over the head with it. Maybe that would make him get his memory back.

The work wasn't as hard now, but it was getting colder. I had my sheepskin jacket to keep me warm, but I was getting worried about Heyes. He didn't have a lot of winter wear. I wondered how I could get him something warm to wear, without it looking like charity.

I needn't have worried. Lucy, missing 'her' Johnny since the cattle drive, had forgotten about giving Heyes the cold shoulder. She was back to baking him pies, and now, she'd made him a jacket. It was real funny-looking, and the cowpokes teased him about it. Thing looked like a quilt—squares of different colors making up that jacket, stuffed with real fine down. I admit it made him look silly, but most of the men were probably half jealous, too. At least it was warm, and I didn't have to worry about him catching cold, when he forgot to stop reading his danged book and come inside.

I hadn't talked to Jet about him knowing our secret, figured even a Heyes without a memory was better at getting people to do what we wanted than I am. But I sure wished I had somebody to talk to, either for advice, or something. It was beginning to look like Heyes would be happy here forever.

But I wasn't. I wasn't happy without Heyes, neither. This guy was like a…a safe version of Heyes, never getting into trouble. Never bossing me around. Never getting too big for his britches. It wasn't natural. When God made Heyes, he made a man who's never gonna know his limits—always gonna shoot for the moon, whether that moon be the next big safe or train, or an impossible-odds shot at amnesty.

That's the Heyes I know. That's the Heyes I miss. This contented act, this hard-working guy, he was getting on my nerves.

Or else it was that danged book. I almost wished I'd never traded with that old miner for it.

But…it did make Heyes look happy. It's nice to see Heyes lookin' happy, even when he ain't really Heyes.

Face it, I just plain missed him.

#

HEYES

I was so occupied, reading, that I missed it. Jet was the one who told me. "Mr. Lund is giving you looks," he said.

I stopped and stared at him. "What?"

"Since you got that new jacket from Lucy." He nodded to it, and I touched the purple square down at the bottom. My jacket? It was nice of her, but…? "He's looking real thoughtful, Johnny. I figure he's about to either tell you to get lost, or let you take a step up in the world, so you'll be worthy of her. You better decide which you want, before he brings it up—'cuz Lund don't like to wait around for a decision."

Lucy, huh? That girl was gonna get me in trouble one way or another!

I went back to reading, but I kept my eyes open, now, for Lund. Sure enough, he was looking thoughtful. He didn't seem too fond of his daughter's handiwork, neither—or else just with me wearing it.

When he called me into his office the next day, I was prepared. I left Twain on the porch, regretfully, and put on a bright, innocent expression, the young eager worker. I didn't want him kicking me off the farm, and working the books would be easier.

He started off with a "Well son, I see you've been reading," and a small grimace. But he set himself to the task manfully and arrived at, "I like to see a man better himself. In fact, I've been thinking," and he managed to work his way up to the books. I kept my face surprised and pleasant, eager to please, and when he gave me the offer, I jumped at the chance.

"It's not much raise in pay," he added quickly. "At least—not at first. Not until you've proved yourself."

"Of course, sir. Of course. I'm just pleased you want to let me try." I smiled at him, and turned my hat over once, and then headed back out.

I didn't know about the whole Lucy thing, but it would be nice to earn even a little more, with even a little less work. And—well—I'd figure the rest out later. I picked up my book and went to tell Jet what had happened, and get his thoughts on it.

I wanted to tell Curry, too, but he was in such a bad mood lately, I thought it could wait.

A little later, I was reading, sitting on a fence. A knife burrowed into the wood near my thigh. I looked up quick at the sound of the knife hitting, and stared at Curry, walking towards me, kinda feral looking, like a long, mean cougar. I swallowed, and shut my book over my finger, to keep my spot.

"Man could get hurt, getting a knife throwed near him like that," I observed.

"Not when I'm throwing it," he said darkly. He yanked it out, and then turned to glare at me. "Heyes, are you ever gonna quit reading that stupid book?"

I blinked at him.

His mouth turned down in a discontented frown. "Well? You gonna tell me if you remember it or not?"

"Not," I croaked. "I mean to say—sometimes something seems vaguely familiar. But mostly it's a surprise. Like you are."

It was his turn to blink. He crossed his arms over his sheepskin jacket. "Well Heyes, that's the first time you've gone and admitted I'm not a total and complete stranger—just mostly a stranger." He raised his hands in a frustrated shrug. "What am I gonna do with you, Heyes? Winter's coming, and I'm about out of my mind. I can't stay on this dinky ranch all winter. It'll be worse than a cabin with five men, and Red Dog."

"Red Dog? Who's he?"

Curry let out a frustrated growl. "Sometimes, Heyes, I could flatten you!"

"Keep your voice down, Curry. You wanna get caught?" I searched my thoughts frantically. "Listen, Lund's giving me a trial as his bookkeeper. I do want to stay the winter. How 'bout you move out and come back in the spring, see if I've remembered anything by then. Okay?" I tried a smile on him, hoping that was a good compromise.

He gave me a hurt, blank look, and sort of sucked his lower lip in. Then he nodded his curly head. "Sure, Heyes. If that's what you want."

He turned and walked away, and I didn't have to have my memory back to know it hurt him real bad.

I didn't know what to say or do, though. I couldn't pretend I remembered when I didn't. I couldn't go running back into a life of danger, without my memory of that danger, and when I had a perfectly safe place, and a good job here.

I had to stay. And if he had to go, I wouldn't keep him.

Maybe that was it. Maybe before, we wouldn't have made a decision like that, to split up, even for the winter.

#

CURRY

I'd stay till the end of the week, get my pay, and maybe have a word with Jet about protecting Heyes. Then I was out of here.

It hurt too much, being around this guy who looked like Heyes, and had a silver tongue like Heyes, and read like Heyes and—wasn't Heyes, wasn't MY Heyes, anyway.

He trusted people too easy now, but he didn't trust me. To him, I was just another cowpoke, not someone who'd saved his life over and over, and whose life he'd saved, too. We weren't partners in crime, in amnesty, in anything. Just—coworkers. And I couldn't live like that. Maybe going separate ways was for the best, even though it hurt to hear him say it…felt like he wanted me gone, or something.

Any words I wanted to say to make him change his mind and come with me wouldn't have helped, because he was right, it was a good job. I didn't know why I wanted to leave so bad, like an itch inside my bones. Guess I haven't stayed one place very long since I was a kid. All the same, it's usually been the both of us with wanderlust, or wander-necessity. Now it was just me.

Well, I'd be gone at the end of the week. Wouldn't even try to say anything to him, because the things I had to say were to Heyes, not to this bookkeeper.

For one week, though, it passed awful slow—and eventful.

The neighbors were getting cattle rustled. So far we hadn't been hit, but the neighbors had sent for a marshal. That made me antsy. I wanted to grab Heyes and get out of there, but I couldn't.

He was walking out evenings with the girl now, with Lucy. Maybe she'd grown up a little—a very little—but I still thought she was too young and spoiled for Heyes. Not that I thought he was serious, which meant he was too old and spoiled for her. (Then again, what did I know about the new Heyes? Maybe he did want to get hitched.)

They'd sit on the porch swing and talk, or walk down by the garden. Not long, just a little every day. Didn't even hold hands, but all the same, it was courting. Heyes was courting Lund's daughter, and it made me mad and antsy inside. What was Heyes thinking? If Lund ever figured out who Heyes was…

#

HEYES

I was beginning to wish I hadn't taken the job.

Yeah, you heard me right. It was awful. I got to sit in a nice office every day, going over figures, not hurting my back, not getting so awful tired, not getting my hands dirty. And I was handling money! And writing down figures! And looking through books! It should've made me real happy, but if anything, I felt more miserable. Knowing Heyes would steal, would've stolen, made me nervous, but I knew I could handle that. I'd never want to hurt Lund.

The thing that scared me was the safe. He had one. It was right by where I worked, too, and the first time I saw it, I broke out into a sweat. I swear, it started calling to me. Telling me to come closer, and open it up.

Minute I saw it, I just wanted to know what was inside. Not to take it. Just to… open it, make the tumblers click and speak to me. Make the safe give up its secrets.

It took me till the second day till I gave in. Nobody was around, I tiptoed around and checked—house all to myself—and I ran to that safe and stuck my ear against it and started playing with the dial.

My hands were shaking a little, and I just wanted it to be over. I wished I could behave myself and sit down and get to bookkeeping work. At the same time, you couldn't have dragged me away from it. I played with that thing for fifteen minutes before it gave itself to me.

Then I pulled the door open, bathed in sweat, and stared at Lund's money. I shut the door again quick, and sat down and got to work.

You can't really crack the same safe twice—you just remember the combination. But I sure tried. Next day I tried to forget the combination so I could crack it all over again.

I must've cracked that safe a dozen ways in the next three days. With my eyes shut. In the dark. When it was noisy outside with men repairing the porch, and I had to strain and sweat to hear any tumbler noise at all.

Basically, the safe didn't spend much time cold. Seemed like I was barely alone with it before I had my hands on it again.

I felt like the boy who knows he's gonna get caught but can't stop anyway. Can't stop pushing it. Was this what it was like to be Hannibal Heyes? I felt out of control, and I could hardly stop thinking of that safe. I knew it was right there, next to me. I had to open it, had to.

I did good with the books, didn't let it affect my work, but it was becoming an agony to stay there. I missed having people around me to keep me straight, missed being taken up just with Mark Twain, not a metal enigma that tempted me to crack her, over and over again, never satisfied.

Curry would be leaving soon, and I knew I had to get up the courage to tell him the truth of what I was discovering about myself—and maybe even go along with him.

I was ashamed to tell Jet, though. He'd think less of me, I was sure. Not havin' any self control where safes were concerned.

#

CURRY

Heyes snuck out to see me, looking hangdog. It was only two days more before I left. (Well, I thought I'd stay the weekend, too, y'see…)

He was looking mighty nervous and halfway ashamed of himself. "Gotta talk to you, Curry," he said.

Curry, it is. Never 'Kid.'

"Yeah? What?" I moved over so there was room for him to lean on the fence, too. I'd been watching the beeves mill around. Not that interesting, but there wasn't much else to do at the moment.

"You—you ever feel really tempted by something? Like, to do something you shouldn't? And maybe you—try to stop yourself, and can't, and…"

"Heyes! You better not be sleeping with that girl! Her father'll kill you!"

He blinked in astonishment. "Oh—no, no. I know better than that. I mean the safe! I can't leave it alone!"

We stared at each other. My shock drained away and I started laughing. He drew back and blinked and looked offended. Kinda puffed his chest up, too.

"I don't see what's so danged funny. I share somethin' humiliating with you, and you see fit to laugh…" He was working himself into feeling proddy.

I managed to stop laughing, and put a hand on his arm. "Sorry, Heyes. It's just nice to know there's still some of the old you in there."

He looked ashamed again. "Well I don't like it. Makes me feel downright…weak. I just keep…opening it. And then I gotta go open it again."

"But you didn't take anything."

"No, I didn't take anything. I wouldn't do that to Lund."

"Well, you wanna go away with me instead of spending the winter? Lund might catch you and think you're taking something one of these times," I offered.

He frowned. "I'm thinking about it, Curry," he admitted. "I'm thinking real hard."

Well. I couldn't ask much more than that, could I?

…Yes I could, and I knew danged well I would, and keep on asking, too, till I got Heyes back to being himself. If I ever did.

He leaned against the fence and sighed. "I like working for Lund. I really do. But I think this new job is contingent on me marrying his daughter. I think he's trying to give her what she wants—me—and I am not sold on the idea. She's pretty enough, but headstrong. I'm not ready to get leg-shackled to anyone, much less someone who latches onto me and gets her father to give me a job." He shook his head slowly. "It doesn't sit right. I'd feel trapped."

I tried not to smile in relief. Good. He was going to make the right choice after all.

I watched him walk away, his shoulders a little drooped. I wished he didn't feel ashamed of himself, but I guess he's not used to dealing with the temptation anymore.

Used to be he'd get tempted, but he'd handle it pretty well. Now…well the whole thing seems to have come as quite a shock to him. And to be fair, he usually doesn't have to work right next to a safe.

#

HEYES

The next day I went to talk to Lund. Talking to Curry gave me the courage to do it, finally.

I laid it on the line for Lund, gussying it up only a little—saying what a fine daughter he had. Seems I must've laid it out too nice at first, because he was getting this nervous look on his face, like he had to steel himself to handle what came next.

"The long and the short of it is, sir, you got a real fine daughter who will make someone a nice husband someday—but it's not me, sir. I find I'm just not the marrying kind. So if you want to take your job back…"

He let out his breath and sort of slumped, and I thought I heard him murmur "Thank God."

"Well." I tipped my hat to him. "If you don't mind, I'll just get back to working with the cowpokes."

"Sure. Absolutely. Although you are good with the books, if you'd like to stay on." He seemed awfully relieved. Maybe even an indecent amount.

I shook my head. "I wouldn't feel right, sir," I answered honestly.

He shook my hand then, up and down, gave it a real wringing. He sure did seem relieved.

#

CURRY

Heyes was back to sleeping in the bunkhouse. Some of the men gave him what for, teased him about aiming for the sky and getting dashed back to earth, but he seemed content enough. He started re-reading his book (making me wonder if I should've burned it), and sometimes in his sleep, I could hear him murmuring numbers, rolling around a little, restless-like.

Each time I heard it, I went over and nudged him awake. If it wasn't the combination to the safe, it sure sounded like it, and I was afraid somebody'd get suspicious.

One night I actually caught him tiptoeing towards the big house, wearing nothing but long johns and his boots.

I caught his arm and he leaned against me, almost relieved. "I'm so weak," he said. "I wanted to crack it, just once more."

I send him back to bed, trying to be stern, trying not to laugh. I'd never seen him quite like this before. That safe really had a hold on him.

Things were going okay. I was sure any day now he'd decide to come away with me, instead of staying here, but so far he hadn't said anything. I kept pushing back the date of my leaving. I guess I'm a little weak, too.

Then one day the marshal rode over, to see if we'd had any cows missing. I recognized him. Big Bill Amery. He's a mean son of a gun. Shoot you soon as talk to you, no patience at all for outlaws trying to go straight. And he'd know me and Heyes on sight, too.

First glimpse I got of him, he was talking to Lund, holding a shotgun and looking serious. I ducked back quick into the bunkhouse, and found an excuse to stick around. When the room was bare, except for Heyes, pulling on his boots, I sat down next to him and whispered in a hiss, "Big Bill Amery's here. We gotta stay out of sight."

He said, "Huh?"

"Big Bill…" I slapped my knee in frustration. "Well, even if you don't remember him, he recognizes us, and he won't play nice. He'll shoot you, Heyes. Now we gotta get out of here, or else hide! I don't know how long he'll stay."

I was sweating and scared, and Heyes caught a little of it. He thought for a second, then said, "Hide in the loft. We can pretend you lost something if anyone asks. Your gun."

"I wouldn't lose my gun!"

"Then think of something better. Come on!"

We climbed to the loft and spend the next half hour hiding in the straw.

When somebody came looking for us, telling us Mack would give us what for, I called down and said, real casual-like, that I'd lost my wallet and Johnny was helping me find it.

"Well hurry up! Mack wants you two digging stones in the field."

Digging stones. I looked at Heyes, and he looked at me. Real hard on the back.

"We'll be along shortly," promised Heyes. "Just have to find his wallet."

"Find a wallet. What were you doing up there in the first place?"

"It was a bet, you see…" began Heyes.

"Forget it! I don't want to know." The man raised his hands and walked away.

"Hey," called Heyes after him, as if in an afterthought. "Is that marshal still here? What'd he want?"

Max said, "He left ages ago. Just asking if we'd lost any beeves." He left.

We fooled around as long as we dared, and then came down. Heyes said it wouldn't look good to hop down the minute we heard the marshal was gone.

I'd made him nervous, I could tell, with this talk of marshals and people getting shot. But the regular Heyes is canny as a fox, and this one needed made a little nervous, in an emergency. Keep him on his toes.

He was real nervous-looking when we headed out into the yard, looking around, kind tensed and uptight.

I touched him on the arm. "I'll take care of you, Heyes," I promised.

A shotgun ratcheted. "I'll take care of you, too—the both of you."

There stood Big Bill Amery, his gun aimed right at my partner's heart. We stopped dead. "Don't think about it, Curry," he said, not taking his eyes off my partner. "Even if you pull your gun and shoot me, I got a half dozen deputies here, aimed at your heart."

"He's Johnny. I'm Curry," I said, mad as anything. Actually, I'd have dared quicker if he had been aiming at my heart. At least it would be my own life I was playing with. But with all those deputies—and they were emerging from their hiding spots now, and sure enough, we never could've shot our way out of this one.

Slowly, we raised our hands.

In the yard, Lund stood there looking displeased, and some of the hands had gathered round. Everybody was standing well back, by the fence.

Max stood a little closer to the marshal. He seemed real jittery, and had a nervous smile on his face. "Had to do it, boys. Marshal paid me hundred bucks."

I glanced at Heyes, to see what he thought of how much he was worth. Made a body downright distrustful, things like this happened enough. He gave a slow, astonished blink.

Then he pulled himself together, while the men moved forward to cuff us. They grabbed us kinda rough, and I grimaced. I'm used to it, but this new version of Heyes, I didn't like to see him pushed around. "Let him go," I snarled. "I'm the one you want." A big, mean-looking deputy with a bristling beard let me have one in the stomach. I doubled over. Heyes gaped, and moved as if to help me, but of course he couldn't. They tied us both up.

"I don't know who you think we are, sir," began Heyes, facing Big Bill with a smile. I couldn't talk yet, was still trying to get my breath back from being sucker punched.

"Shut up," snarled the bearded deputy, and smacked Heyes upside the head with the butt of his gun.

Heyes slumped. My jaw went real tight, but there was nothing I could do—nothing but look murder at the bastard's eyes, promising what I'd do to him, later. He sorta grinned. "Can't let that silver tongue get started."

"No!" From the fence, Lucy ran forward.

Lund followed, a real unhappy look to his eyes. "I don't know who you think these men are, but they aren't cattle thieves. They've been working with my men for months, never out of sight. My men can all testify to that. Even that one." He nodded at Max, who licked his lips nervously, and gave a small nod.

Lund turned his piercing gaze on Big Bill. "I demand you let my employees go. They're innocent of being cattle thieves."

"Be that as it may." Big Bill grinned a lazy, mean grin. "They're not innocent of being Heyes and Curry—and I can testify to that fact."

Heyes was still slumped over. Looked like he was breathing real shallow.

Lund gestured. "At least let a doctor look at him. He shouldn't have been hit on the head. He had a head injury a few months ago. It could be really dangerous."

I tried to get a little closer to Heyes, nudge him with my knee. He still wasn't moving.

"Oh, we'll take care of them," said Big Bill. One of his men let out a cackling laugh. The rest stayed ominously silent, but exchanged grins.

"Heyes, please. Wake up," I hissed at him, as they dragged us away to their horses. "You're scaring me."

"Aw, listen to that, boss. He's scared." The big one gave my shoulders a shake. I spun round in his grip, scraping my boot down his shin and stomping on his toes. One hit. A yelp. Brought my knee up and caught him in the balls. He howled. I brought one of my elbows forward and hit his face as he came down, bending forward with the pain. Then they got me off him.

It took less than a minute. I was breathing hard, furious. I wouldn'ta done that, if he hadn't hurt Heyes.

And as it was, I paid for it. They made me walk behind a horse, while they slung Heyes over one. He bounced like a sack of hams, and I had to watch, trying desperately to run and keep up, as one of the deputies, grinning, tugged on my leash.

Every once in awhile, I fell. They didn't have to do anything but ignore me, and I got pretty banged up. Of course, they didn't ignore me. After they pulled me off the deputy, and before they tied me to the horse, they'd hit me around pretty good, too. Right now I couldn't see out of my left eye.

So that's how we went to town. Heyes riding, sorta, me stumbling and trying to see the world out of one eye only. Everything hurt. Most of all, I was scared they'd killed Heyes. He was so… still.

They threw us in the back of the bank. There was no cell, and no sheriff, so this is where they locked us up. Drunks weren't locked up, just send to the stables if need be, and shut in till they quieted down.

The town didn't have a lot of real criminals come through. You could see on the bank manager's face—what I could see of it; I was stumbling pretty bad and they kept shoving me forward—that he was real nervous about having Curry and Heyes locked up with his safe. But Big Bill didn't give him much choice—even pulled his gun out, and drawled that we'd be safe there, only place that really locked up, and besides we were in no condition to steal anything, and weren't going to get away, neither, not on his watch.

The bank manager took one look at us. I tried to smile, but my face wasn't much good for it. "I guess you're right," he said, and they shoved me in, and slung Heyes out next to me. He lay flat on the floor, on his back, his eyes closed, his hair, which had been getting too long for awhile now, sort of splayed out on the floor.

It made me feel real sad, to see him like that.

"Hey. Water," I croaked. "We need water, or we'll die."

"Thought you was so tough," said a deputy, grinning down at me.

"We'll be harder to transport dead."

"I'll get some." The manager, looking decidedly unnerved by the thought of someone dying in his bank, hurried away. He came back quickly with a pitcher, and they let us have it.

Then they slammed the big door with a clang, locked and bolted it, leaving us stuck in here with the big old safe. It wasn't an airtight room. There was a small, barred windows at the top, but too small for a man, even a child to get through. Even those had a whole lot of bars in them, like we were in jail. Maybe that's why it occurred to Amery.

"Heyes. Heyes." I crawled to him and hissed his name, real quiet, and tried to shake him. My hands were still bound, and they weren't in too great shape, neither.

He groaned.

"Heyes. Or Johnny," I said, not knowing which name he'd answer to quickest.

"Kid," he mumbled. He frowned, not opening his eyes, and groaned a little. Then, slowly, he raised his eyelids. He looked at me, bleary and strange. "Two of you. Got hurt," he mumbled, trying to reach up to my face. Then his eyes closed again and he was still.

I coulda cried. He wasn't dead.

"You stay there, Heyes," I whispered. "Stay and sleep. I'll figure somethin' out."

I got to work on my hands, getting 'em free. I twisted the ropes on the thing on the safe that you turn—Heyes would know the name, I think of it as the handles—and twisted till they stretched enough for me to get one hand out. I tossed them aside and then untied Heyes. He lay easier, without his hands tied in front of him. I moved him a little, so he'd be more comfortable, and slipped my jacket off to give him a pillow. He didn't need his head on the hard floor, not after that hit.

"Kid…" he groaned, reaching out for me.

I caught his hand and gave it a squeeze. "I'm right here, Heyes."

"What happened?" he asked.

"Big Bill."

"Oh," he said, and went to sleep again.

I paced the cell, trying to think of a way out. But there was no way. The bank was a real good one—maybe that was part of the reason they didn't have a sheriff?—and near as I could figure, we were gonners.

Oh, Big Bill might not kill us himself, but he'd always made it real clear he wasn't particular about the condition a 'dead or alive' bounty was brought in. He hadn't tried to stop his men none from giving me what for, neither. Just stood back and grinned. Kinda like he enjoyed it.

I grimaced as I remembered them hitting me, and rubbed my arms, but there wasn't anything else I could do.

At last I drank some water, woke Heyes up to give him some, and then I curled up with him to keep him warm. We both slept, despite everything. I held onto him, knowing it was the last I might see of him alive.

We couldn't stand much more of Big Bill's heavy-handed treatment and stay alive. Neither one of us.

#

CURRY

I woke up to the sound of arguments outside our cell. Not real loud, but loud enough I could hear 'em through the tiny windows.

"And that's why I insist they be kept alive." It was Lund's voice. "One, if they are innocent men, you'll be a murderer if they aren't. Two, if they are Curry and Heyes, I get at least part of the reward. They were in my employ for months, and you came onto my land without permission to get them. I wonder what the courts will say about that? They can testify to it, if they're alive. And I won't have you stealing from me by killing them."

I grimaced. Way to go, Lund. That'll convince him. He'll kill us all the quicker now.

"And I want a doctor to see them, to ensure they are alive, and I've wired for the nearest town's sheriff to come help you transport them. Frankly, Mr. Amery—I don't trust you."

Amery rumbled something in reply. I couldn't hear the words, but he sounded amused.

I nudged Heyes, and tried to get him to wake up. He'd woke up twice during the night. He'd been sick in the corner of the room. I'd cleaned him up as best I could, got him to drink some more water, and then held him to comfort him. He felt real sick, and he was mumbling something I couldn't understand. But I held onto him and promised it would be okay, and eventually he got to sleep again.

He looked a little better this morning, when he opened his eyes, but still not great. "Happened to you?" he croaked, reaching out for my face. Then he grimaced, and reached for his own head, and closed his eyes against the pain.

"Sorry, Heyes. They're talking about what they're gonna do to us. Lund's on our side, I think, but not very good at it," I whispered. "Maybe he'll keep him busy, though, and buy us some time. If we could get a message to Lom… Nah, he'd take too long to arrive."

"Who's Lund?" said Heyes, not opening his eyes.

I stared at him. "You mean you forgot?"

"Kid, it hurts. Shut up." He grimaced, fighting the pain.

I frowned at him, and then nodded. Of course he wasn't up to scheming yet. Of course. I moved to the window, and listened some more. They'd moved away further.

"Kid, water?"

I moved back to give it to him, and drank some myself. I started to go back to the window, but he caught my arm.

"Stay with me," he said in a hurting sort of voice.

I cast one last glance at the window—probably couldn't hear anymore anyhow—and stayed with him. "Sure Heyes." I rubbed his arm, and fixed his pillow a little, and just sat by him mostly.

He drifted off again, and I started to pace.

Nothing happened that day. The sun changed places, it got dark in the cell real quick, so I couldn't see my hand in front of my face. Our water was nearly gone, I was starving, and nothing had happened.

I was scared stiff.

That night, Heyes was feeling better. "Kid?" he mumbled, and yawned, and tried to sit up.

"I'm right next to you," I grouched. "Who do you think this is?" I poked him in the arm.

"Ow. Quit that. Did you say we were in a bank? Seems to me you said something about a bank."

I couldn't see his face but he sounded a lot better now. "Yeah, we're in a bank." I told him, for at least the third time, everything that had happened.

"Oh. Well if it's all the same to you, and since it's probably the last time…I'd like to crack it."

"Crack what?"

"The safe, Kid. What else? Steer me towards it."

"Heyes, are you sure you're well enough…?"

He growled a little, halfway a groan. "Lead me towards it, Kid. I want to crack it."

"Okay, okay. It's over here." I steered him. "Do you remember Lund and Jet and Lucy and everyone now?"

"Sure, Kid." He kept his voice low. "Least, I remember mostly. Some of it's still a little gray." A pause. He twirled the numbers thing on the safe. "Wanna say I'm real sorry, Kid, for putting you through that." A pause. More spinning. "You know if I'd remembered, I'd have come away with you right off. I just… didn't." More spinning. "Sorry I didn't treat you right. And, you know, if you felt jealous of Jet, I'm sor—" Then he gave a soft little exhale of breath, like an "oh!"

He stopped, and I could almost hear him smiling in the dark. "Got one, Kid."

I was frowning, though. I hooked my thumbs through my belt. "I sure wasn't jealous. Why would I be jealous?"

He laughed softly, a little chuff of good pleasure. "Sure. Of course not, Kid. Why would you be?"

"You're laughing at me, Heyes. Quit it." And then I had to grin, too. Hey—he was back! What did I want, Johnny-Heyes, the guy who was almost too agreeable, who never bossed me around or seemed to see through me? No sir. I'd take this nut, any day.

"Heyes…"

"Be quiet. Can't you see I'm working?"

"No, I can't 'see' it, Heyes. I just wanted to say…"

A hiss of annoyance.

"I'm-glad-you're-back." I got the words out quick, and then grinned at the dark as he said "hmph."

I wrapped my arms round myself in the dark, feeling glad. Hey—even if we had to go down, I got him back, for a little bit. And he do what he loved one last time, crack a safe.

Another little pleased sound, as he caught the second number.

"Heyes, you're positively indecent when you're cracking a safe, you know that?"

"Shh, Kid!"

"Do you remember how bad you acted about Lund's safe? How you couldn't resist her charms? Had to have your hands all—"

"Kid!" Another exasperated hiss.

I fell quiet, grinning.

This time he stayed quiet when got the next number, but I heard the hitch in his breath. The man surely did love cracking safes. I wished I could let him do it all the time.

#

HEYES

The last click went into place and I sighed, happy I'd succeeded, sorry it was done. I opened the door, and did what I had to do, but the gold bar was pretty heavy, so I called the Kid to come get his own.

"Kid."

No answer.

"Kid!" I tried again, and heard a thump, as he scrambled awake.

"What is it?" He sounded grumpy. Must've drifted off. Never could enjoy the process of a safe cracking…

I felt another twinge of guilt, about the way I'd treated him when I lost my memory, and softened my tone a little. "Kid, I've got it. Now I want you to come pick out a brick of gold. I'm taking one, too. It's important. We've got to be able to bean those guys over the head when they come for us tomorrow."

"What makes you think they'll come tomorrow?" He crawled over next to me and obediently began digging through the safe. I'd pushed aside some paper money to grab my own gold bar. It was kinda heavy. I guess I was still pretty weak; I had trouble lifting it.

"Cause Amery's not going to wait around forever. Now we've got to be ready…"

"Okay, Heyes. We'll be ready. Can we get some more sleep in the meantime?"

"Ought to take shifts, so we don't sleep in too late."

"Heyes. I got beat up. You got a head injury. Now do you really think we should be sitting up, either one of us?"

"I think I'd like to live, and this is our best shot. Don't worry, I'll take the first shift and wake you in two hours."

"Now how you gonna tell when two hours are up?"

"When I start to yawn uncontrollably. Now will you go to sleep?"

"Okay, Heyes. Don't forget to wake me…"

He curls up and I sit up and think. Sometimes I don't much like thinking, but it's certainly better than the alternative—not being able to think. I go over everything that happened when I'd lost my memory. I go over how the ranch seemed like home, and I trusted everyone there, and I can't hardly figure it.

Me? Trust?

I trust the Kid, and that's it. I've been burned too many times with other people. Me and him—that's it. Anybody else comes through for us, I'm always pleasantly surprised. I'm not so surprised, when people are ready to sell us out at the drop of the hat.

But when I 'was' Johnny, it surprised me, what Max did.

"Heyes," he whispers hoarsely.

"Yeah Kid?"

"It's kinda cold, and you're not using it, so I'm going to wear my jacket."

"Sounds smart, Kid."

"That means I still need a pillow. Do you mind?" He sorta edges over and lays his head down on my lap.

"Oh. No, sure, Kid." I pet a hand back over his head, hope he can get comfortable and get some sleep. I didn't get a real good look at his injuries, but he's been moving like he's hurt.

"Thanks, Heyes…" Soon, he's sound asleep, dead to the world.

I feel humbled that he trusts me this much—snoring, holding a bar of gold in a bank, sleeping on my leg. Makes a guy feel sorta lucky, to have somebody that trusts him that much.

I just hope I can get him—get both of us—out of this mess. 'Cuz if I can't—if we can't—then we're probably dead. Big Bill doesn't much care how he brings his prisoners back, and he's never been overly fond of me and the Kid.

I think and think, and nothing else comes to me, but the gold. I wake Kid after awhile, and he takes over. He's gonna give me his jacket again, but I say I don't mind, I'll be quite comfortable using him as a pillow.

We're just trading spots, keeping hold of our gold bars (because that's not something you want to have to search around for at the last minute in the pre-dawn), when there's a sound.

It's not a big sound, but we both freeze like scared rabbits. I feel my heart racing like one, too.

It's something at the window.

"Who's there?" says Kid, hoarsely.

"Jet," says a familiar voice.

"And Lucy," says another.

"Hell, it's all of us," says Mack. "Just shut up and let us get you out of there."

There's a sound like chains being hooked around the bars of the window.

"We won't fit out," I said.

"We know," they promise. "Can you get behind the safe? Get down?"

Kid and I hurry to obey. I shut the safe, on the way past.

"What are you going to do?" I ask, but they don't answer. Now I hear a fuse hissing. Kid and I hunker down behind the safe, small as we can get, and close our eyes.

"Cover your ears," says Kid, and we both do.

Then, BOOM! The room seems to explode.

We stumble to our feet, shaking off the dust and plaster that's raining down. Now the chains are working. The blast didn't destroy the side of the bank; it's reinforced with steel bars. No wonder they never needed a sheriff before. But then, they never had us locked in a bank before, either.

The chains are tight, something's pulling them. I hear horses whinny, someone urging them on. We stand there nervously, waiting for the guards to charge in.

"I gave them pie. Drugged pie," said Lucy with a wicked giggle.

I could get to like that girl…

One of the bars pops out and the Kid and I rush forward. They've only got one lamp between them, but it's enough to see by. It's a tight squeeze, but we make it through, letting out our breaths as we pass through, grimacing where it's tight and will probably leave bruises.

Lucy grabs me and kisses me. Not exactly shy.

I hear her father clear his throat, not sounding happy about it. I get extricated.

"How can we thank you?" I asked, trying to find him, to shake his hand and look properly grateful.

"By leaving town—fast—and never coming back."

I blink.

"What we mean," says Jet, "is that if they find out we helped, we'll likely get in trouble. That means—no contact with us. Ever. We don't know when it'll be safe, and frankly, we don't feel like risking jail for you boys. Just don't want to see you die. We brought your horses. There's supplies." Jet drew me aside a moment, spoke to me privately. "Johnny, I'm sorry you don't remember being that outlaw. But your friend'll take care of you."

"Oh, but I do. That knock on the head set me right." I try to smile, in the dimness, even though my head still does hurt, and it's not as funny as it sounds.

"Good." He holds my arms a minute, tightly. "Well. Go on, then. Have a good life."

"You too." I wish I could've known him longer—talked to him when I remembered who I was. For a little bit, it was like having an older brother.

I never told Kid, but I always wanted an older brother.

We get on our horses, and try to thank them again, and they try to hurry us again, and then Kid says,

"Oh heck. I forgot my gold!"

"What do you mean? We're not stealing it!" I say, kinda sharp. I'd put mine down before slipping through the bars.

"No, I forgot and took it with me. Here—Lund—will you put it back, please? We didn't take anything else, honest."

"That's right," I agree. "We didn't take anything else."

And then, to turn off Lucy's tendency to sniffle and say things she won't mean in the morning, I add, "Hey Luce…tell your father he might want to get a better safe!" And I kick my horse's side and take off at a gallop, grinning like all get-all, heading into the night, Kid at my side.

"Heyes, you shouldna ought to tell them that," he reproaches.

"I had to, Kid. Can't have them thinking too kindly of us now, can I?"

Kid doesn't talk again for a couple minutes, and we ride hard. I figure the subject's dropped. But nope, he circles back to it.

"They loved you. All of 'em. Except maybe Max. You shouldn'ta told 'em that. Now they'll think you stole something…"

"I didn't."

"They'll think you did. They'll worry. They'll check everything."

"Kid."

"What?" He sounded grumpy.

"Shut up."

We ride for awhile more. "Heyes."

"Yeah?"

"You know they liked you, so you had to try to give 'em something to dislike you about. Just can't stand the thought that people are going to be thinking nice things about you. But if somebody doesn't like you, you go out of your way, to try and make 'em like you."

"Kid, you are really, really thinking too much. Leave that to me, huh?"

It was getting light, getting towards dawn. You could just see the color starting to seep into the world, the bare outlines of our way etched out ahead of us. We rode harder, since we could see now, and had to get as many miles ahead of Big Bill as we could. My head was hurting with every jolt, but that didn't matter much compared to the threat of Big Bill Amery.

"Aw, Heyes, I'm just glad you're you again. You scared me when you trusted everyone, you know that? You weren't looking over your shoulder all the time. I had to do the thinking for both of us." He sounded aggrieved by that.

I grinned. "Well, Kid, you did a good job."

"Yeah?" He sounds half pleased, half wary.

"I mean it. You did." What, now I can't give him a compliment, because I'm back to being 'the old Heyes?'

"Thanks, Heyes." He sounded real pleased. Maybe I should go ahead and do that more often.

I decide to change the subject, before it gets any more warm and fuzzy.

"Hey, Kid." I can hear the grin in my voice. I hope he can, too. "I've been thinking."

"That's good, Heyes." He sounded a little wary, though. Why would me thinking make him wary?

"I think I ought to stay in practice, for times like tonight, when I had to crack that safe. I think it was good I practiced on Lund's blindfolded."

"Blindfolded! You never told me…"

I cleared my throat. "Anyway…I think it's important. For our safety, that I practice on safes once in awhile."

"Heyes…" Warning note in the Kid's voice. "You're not thinking of stealing, are you?"

"No, no. Just for practice. Say, once we get Big Bill off our trail, find a nice little town, sneak in, and just…see if I can still…you know, crack a safe, keep my time short, you understand."

I'm halfway teasing him, because, let's face it, that's a dumb idea. But at the same time, I really do miss it sometimes. The thrill. The challenge. The little sounds of tumblers falling into place…

To my surprise, he says, "Yeah, Heyes. Sounds like a good idea. After all, you never know the next time we'll get locked in a bank and have to open a safe in the dark to get gold bars to beat deputies over the head with."

"Well…when you put it like that, I guess it does sound stupid, but…"

"No, no. I think you should do it, Heyes. Keep the old hand in. I'll stand guard. Just…don't leave any clues you were there. That's like an extra challenge, huh? If we bend any bars, we'll have to bend them back, afterwards." He sounds actually excited about it.

"Heyes and Curry, back at it again, huh?" I feel guilty already, for drawing the Kid back into a life of…semi-crime.

"Curry and Heyes," corrects Kid. "And we'll just do a couple. Just a couple, so you can keep your hand in."

We ride some more. I think about it. I really try to weigh it from both angles. And…well…I think the risk is too great. But…I'll probably crack one anyway, at least once. Just to prove to us both that I've still got what it takes. But only once. I've got to take care of the Kid, first. And I know what happens when I let my larcenous love of safes have free reign. No sir. We're not going back there.

"Guess we'll send a telegraph to Lom, next stop," I hedge. "Ask him about amnesty, and then work. And…maybe see how the Lund ranch fairs."

"Yeah."

What's going on with the Kid? He sounds really…happy.

"Heyes." He twists around in the saddle and grins at me. "I'm awful glad you're back."

It was fun having a home, at least for a little while. But Kid and me, that's the only real home we've got.

I grin back at him. "Yeah, Kid. Me too."

EPILOGUE

CURRY

When we finally got somewhere safe, Heyes slept for almost two days straight. Me, almost as much.

We contacted Lom, and got him to check on Lund and everyone. Lund must've been busy, calling in favors, or else Big Bill was too embarrassed to let anyone know he let us escape, because no charges had been filed—and nobody claimed to have lost us, either.

Heyes had headaches for awhile, but he didn't complain. He just got a tight look around his eyes and his smile. I bought him something for the pain, but he mostly wouldn't take it.

And when he got well enough, I took him to a bank. It was an easy one, cause I knew he was still recovering—and it would help.

So now, I'm standing here, on guard, while he's got his ear pressed against that safe. He's grinning away.

It feels good. We're back, you know? But then I remind myself, no, we don't want to go back there—to where we're taking things that don't belong to us.

"I'm in, Kid," he whispers, and I go to join him. We stare in it, at all the things we used to steal. And then we shut the door.

We'll be just larcenous enough to take this moment for ourselves.

HEYES

"Kid." I'm laying a soft mattress, my hands behind my head.

The Kid's across the room on his own bed, yawning. "What, Heyes?"

"Do you get the nagging feeling we should've learned a lesson from all this amnesia business? Or that I should've, perhaps?" I turn to look at him.

He shrugs, and yawns. "Like what?"

"I don't know." I frown. "I just feel like I ought to have learned _something_, after going through all that. 'I'll trust Kid next time I have amnesia?' I can't promise that—and I hope it never comes up again. 'Life's better when you can trust people?' Of course it is, but that doesn't change things if you can't trust 'em."

"Heyes, you're going to collect enough proverbs to write a book. 'Lessons from a Life on the Run,' by Hannibal Heyes." He yawns again, and doesn't try to cover it.

I grin. "Say, that's not a bad title, Kid. But no. I just feel like I ought to be able to figure something out from our experiences at the Lund ranch." I frown, staring at the ceiling, worrying the idea further.

Another yawn. "I got a good one for you, Heyes. 'Stop worrying, and enjoy what you got.'"

I blink. "Y'know, Kid, I think you're right. That was one good thing I learned on the ranch. Life's more fun when you relax, and stop worrying. That's pretty smart, Kid. Of course, I don't say I'll be able to do it, now that I know all the things I have to worry about…"

"Heyes," he growls.

"What?" I'm preoccupied for the moment, thinking about the wisdom of Kid. (What is that saying, 'Out of the mouths of babes?' And Kids?)

"How about shutting up and letting your partner get a little sleep, huh?"

I turn to look at him. His eyes are kind of squinted, and he's half grimacing, trying to smile. He gives me a nod, and lays back, affronted. "Yeah."

"Oh. Sorry."

I cross my hands behind my head again, and stare at the ceiling. Thinking. Thinking about innocence and wisdom, and all the things I ought to have learned.

After a few minutes, I hear Kid start to snore. It cuts short my philosophy, and hounds me towards my own sleep.

Somehow, even his snoring is comforting. Like a reminder of Kid, following me. Maybe the lesson is, whatever else goes wrong, whatever bad things happen, he'll always be there.

On that thought, I finally start to drift off. I can think more about life lessons, and safes, tomorrow.

We ride into sleep, together, like it's supposed to be.


End file.
